


Spark to tinder

by Kitpurr



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:44:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1650716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitpurr/pseuds/Kitpurr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a million things Clarke doesn't want to think about, but Bellamy is determined to force her to let some of her anger out, even if it's directed at him.</p><p>Things do not go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spark to tinder

**Author's Note:**

> I have precious little time for writing at the moment but I keep wanting to write about Bellamy and Clarke's ridiculous chemistry. Unlike my other vignette fic (whoever we need to be) I'll try to make this one have chapters. More smut(and possibly plot) to follow if you like it so please read and review!

**Chapter 1: Shake well before serving**

“Beautiful sunset, don’t you think?”

“Bellamy.” She started. He’d seemed to appear out of thin air. One moment Clarke had been alone in the forest and the next moment he was there, leaning languidly against the tree in front of her, outlined in the red of the fading sunlight.

She turned to see what he was looking at. The sun had just begun to dip below the horizon and the sky flushed with its after glow. It arced across the sky in streaks of crimson and lavender, lit the tops of the trees in a fiery halo. It was beautiful. She’d almost missed it, she’d been so focused on the task at hand. So focused on doing and not thinking — about the grounders, Finn, the crashed ship and her mothe— No, she would not think about that.

Clarke turned back to Bellamy. It had been three days since ‘it’ had happened and she’d been studiously avoiding him. She couldn’t bare to see the friendly concern in his eyes, in any of their eyes. Which was why she was out here collecting what primitive medical supplies she could instead of back at camp. But he’d found her, of course.

“What do you want?” She asked.

“I don’t want anything, Princess,” He said ignoring the shortness in her voice, “I just thought you could use this more than me.” He proffered her the half empty bottle that dangled from his fingers “Last of Monty’s unity juice.”

As a peace offering it was a good one. It had the unmistakable smell of moonshine and Clarke considered it for a moment, almost seduced by its promise to let her float away in an alcoholic haze. No, she couldn’t let her misery overtake her better judgement. She waved it away.

“Suit yourself.” Bellamy said and took a swig, smirking like the Cheshire Cat. She’d always been fond of Alice in Wonderland as child, now she wasn’t so sure. He seemed completely at ease, taking Clarke in as she returned to scrapping at a low-hanging tree branch with her knife, freeing fat droplets of fluid resin to fall into the bucket below.

“Why tree sap?” he asked.

“It’ll hold a wound closed in a pinch, we’re running low on suturing supplies.” She didn’t need to add that the silence of the Ark meant there were no more supplies coming, or that with the war with the Grounders there’d probably be plenty of wounds to close soon.

Bellamy touched a drop of the amber sap weeping from the tree. Stretching the tacky blob between his fingers, feeling its stickiness.

“Tree blood for human blood.” He murmured thoughtfully. “You know, I could get someone else to collect this for you, right?”

Clarke shrugged. “I wanted to be alone, and to stab something I didn’t have to stitch up again.” She looked at him pointedly. “But if you want to volunteer to go in the tree’s place—” Her vicious slashing redoubled to emphasise her point.

“I don’t think it’s me you want to stab right now, Clarke.”

Bellamy’s tone told her he knew exactly why she was so angry. She’d left camp just after Finn and her had another argument about starting a war with the Grounders, an argument that had been a thinly disguised fight about something else entirely.

“I don’t know if it’s Raven or Spacewalker that you want to stab though.” Clarke didn’t say anything. “I have to say, I never pictured Her Highness Clarke as a home wrecker.” The idea seemed to entertain him.

Her jaw tightened and the knuckles around her knife turned white. “Not that it is any of your business, but what happened between Finn and I was before I even knew Raven existed.” She glared at him. She knew exactly what he was doing, trying to goad her, she just had no idea why. Usually he read her ‘get lost’ signals better. “Don’t you have something useful to do Bellamy?”

Bellamy shrugged, smiling. He seemed unperturbed by the angry woman wielding the knife beside him. “I am. I’m making sure our only healer doesn’t get dragged away by Grounders. And offering her a consolatory ear.” He took another sip of the bottle. “So Finn didn’t tell you he had a girlfriend back home? That’s got to sting.”

Clarke focused intently on the tree limb in front of her. “It doesn’t matter.” Stab. “It was one night.” Stab. “it didn’t mean anything.” Stab.

“You’ve never struck me as a one night kind of girl, princess.” There was something almost insulting about the way he said it.

“What have I struck you as?” She asked hotly before she realised the opening she’d given him.

“A straight-laced, do-gooder who never does anything that might feel good without fretting about it for days, or wallows in guilt for weeks afterwards.” Clarke spluttered, but Bellamy just went on, “I’m honestly surprised you got out of your own head long enough to fall into Finn’s bed.”

It was like a slap, it stung because in part it was true. She’d always thought that the best way to avoid getting hurt was to only be with someone if she really meant it, only if they meant something to her. Then Finn had come along and smashed that naive notion.

Bellamy was looking at her with that smirk of his, knowing full well he was irritating her. Why was he taunting her? Just for fun? Clarke felt a strange kind of madness grip her. She was so sick of always being the responsible one. The sensible one. The one who was the voice of reason. If he wanted her to react to his annoying presence she would, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her break down. He wanted to get under her skin, well, turnabout was fair play.

“Let me show you what kind of girl I am.” Her tone sounded dangerous even to her.

Bellamy blinked in surprise as she snatched the bottle of rotgut from his hand and managed to drain what was left in a single fluid movement. Her eyes stung and she was tempted to let out a wheeze but she hung in there until the moment passed.

The empty bottle she ejected over her shoulder, part of her wincing at the reckless misuse of materials. She forgot about it soon enough though as the liquid heat started to coil within her, making her vision a little misty around the edges. She met Bellamy’s gaze, his smirk had turned into a surprised grin.

“Well, well Clarke, look who joined the party.”

“Better late than never.” She said gasping a little and wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

“I’m still not sure that proves you’re a one night kind of—” Bellamy paused as Clarke reached up and undid the top button of her shirt. The perfect cupids bow of his mouth was pursed open, his gaze fixed in quizzical disbelief as she popped another button, then another. She was about half way down when Bellamy seemed to come back to himself with a start, as if realised he’d been staring at the creamy triangle of exposed skin for far too long.

“Clarke,” He cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”

She met his dazed gaze feeling a sort of wild exhilaration overtake her. Whatever he had expected her to do when he got her angry it wasn’t this…

“What does it look like Bellamy? We’re alone in a forest, you’re a guy, I’m a girl.” She licked her lips, watched his eyes follow her darting tongue. “I think you can put two and two together.”

She stepped closer to him, so close she could feel the warmth radiating off his skin through his thin tee and onto her bare skin where her shirt was open. Clarke tilted her head up so she could look into his wide, unbelieving eyes.

“One night. I want to know what all the fuss is about.” Her own eyes were filled with a mixture of dare and challenge.

“Fuss?” He asked. He looked a little lost, his irises seemed blown out to thin brown rings around his pupils. Each weighted breath seemed to bend them closer together until Clarke realised she was only a few inches from his lips. He pulled back a little but his mouth twisted as if it pained him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Princess.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow “Every one knows about the train of girls leaving your tent every morning. Am I not good enough to join the Bellamy harem?”

She stood there defiant, daring him to make a move, to close the gap between them, but Bellamy remained frozen. He had thrown down a gauntlet by taunting her, he obviously wasn’t expected her to throw one back. At least not this one.

“Suit yourself.” She said softly.

She had won, they had been playing chicken and she had won. She was sure she should feel more pleased but she only felt disappointed somehow. She turned to go—

—and felt Bellamy’s steel arm pull her back to face him.

Heat. Everywhere was heat. In the mouth moving hungrily against hers, in the alcohol coursing through her veins and the hard planes of Bellamy’s chest she was pressed against.

His kiss was a contradiction, like him, all rough, hard mouth and silken probing tongue. He angled his hand into her hair, tugging it back so he could get better access to her mouth — the sensation balanced precariously between pain and pleasure. It was frenzied and overwhelming, and it was exactly what she needed. She let her own fingernails dig into the nape of his neck, heard him grunt before he nipped her lip in retaliation. Her moan in response only seemed to inflame him more.

Bellamy’s hands were moving over the curve of her hips leaving a trail of fire on her skin when the concerned call cut across the clearing.

“Clarke?” Her body froze up at the sound, like she’d been hit with a bucket of ice water. She knew who it belonged to without looking. Finn. He was searching for her.

Bellamy pulled away, leaving only a rush of cold air in his wake. Her skin, which had been feverish a moment ago turned to gooseflesh in the chill twilight air. They were both panting, neither quite able to meet the other’s eye. Clarke hastily buttoned her shirt with trembling fingers. They never trembled, not when she was suturing a wound, not when she was drawing, not ever. But they were now.

Finn was still somewhere out of sight but he was coming closer, calling her name.

The horrible realisation of how much her moment of madness had messed everything up struck her. How could she be so stupid as to kiss Bellamy Blake, was there so much wrong in her world that she had literally lost her mind?

And then there was Finn. He already hated Bellamy, hated that she trusted him with things around the camp. What would he do if he knew what had just happened between them? She may be pissed at him right now but in the end Finn was still her friend, the first friend she had made down here, she didn’t want to lose that friendship after she had already lost so many.

“Don’t.” She turned to Bellamy, voice low and pleading. “Please don’t say anything.” He looked at her for a moment, soulful brown eyes burning into her, unreadable.

“I’ll do you one better.” He said quietly. Then he turned on his heel and disappeared, melting like a shadow into the forest.


End file.
